


Smoke and Mirrors

by opal_earrings



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Kidnapping, Manipulation, Mild Language, Missions, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:40:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24478840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opal_earrings/pseuds/opal_earrings
Summary: “He has eyes everywhere, Peter, and now you’ve led him straight to us.”Peter wakes up with no memories, and his only link to his past is a man he doesn’t recognize, Quentin Beck. He explains that Peter was hurt by a man called Tony Stark, and that they’re hiding from the Avengers, a team of superheroes gone rogue. Although Peter’s scared, he knows that he can trust Beck as he explains their plan to get justice for all the terrible things that Tony Stark has done.But there's an incessant tingling in the back of Peter's neck, and he doesn't understand what it means.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Quentin Beck & Peter Parker
Comments: 46
Kudos: 304





	1. this is my word, this is my way

**Author's Note:**

> So I originally sat down to write a light hearted amnesia fic, but then I had this way angstier idea and decided to write this instead.
> 
> Also shout out to my optimism when starting this for thinking I'd be able to write the whole thing in three days. But the next two parts are mostly written, they just need a little reworking, so hopefully they'll be up soon.
> 
> (Chapter titles from Smoke and Mirrors by Imagine Dragons)
> 
> Thank you for clicking on my fic, and I hope you enjoy! <3

Something brushed against his hand. The back of his neck tingled.

He groaned and tried to pull his hand away, but his body didn’t obey him. Whatever was touching his hand got more aggressive, shaking him. Distantly, he registered a voice.

“Peter? Peter?”

Was that him? The name sounded vaguely familiar. Why was someone calling him? He was so tired, and his head felt foggy. He just wanted to sleep.

“Peter. Wake up.”

The shaking was now too much for him to ignore. Peter groaned in irritation. Maybe if he opened his eyes, it would stop. He tried, but immediately bright light brought tears to his eyes and he turned his head away to relieve the stinging in his retinas. He blinked the tears away with a distressed groan and squinted, trying to take in his surroundings. It was difficult to focus. Why was his head so foggy?

From what he could see, he was in a completely unfamiliar room. He was lying on some sort of hospital bed with railed sides and a mattress bent to prop him up slightly, but the room he was in was definitely not in a hospital. It was small and made of concrete, lit by a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. Rusted, outdated medical equipment surrounded his bed, but other than that, the room was mostly empty. The only other thing of note was a plush leather chair. In it sat a man he had never seen before, staring at him with a curious spark in his eyes.

Alarmed, Peter scrambled into a sitting position. The movement tugged at an IV in his left elbow and the sight of unknown drugs pumping into his body tightened a band around his chest. Was that why his head was foggy? He tried to pull the needle out, but hands grabbed at his wrists and yanked them apart.

It was the unfamiliar man. “Stop. Peter. Look at me.”

Despite the tightness of the grip, Peter got the impression that he could have freed his arms if he’d tried. The man’s earnest stare, however, made him freeze. He didn’t seem threatening.

“Do you remember who I am?” the man asked, uncertain.

The back of Peter’s neck tingled. He glanced around the sparse room again, hairs raising at the lack of windows and the heavy metal door just visible over the man’s shoulder.

“I—I don’t—where am I? —who’re—”

At Peter’s confusion, the man turned away, hiding his face. He took a moment to school his features, then took a deep breath and turned back to Peter.

“Okay.” He let go of Peter’s wrists, leaving red fingerprints, and patted Peter’s knee over the blankets. “It’s okay, Peter. It’s me. It’s Beck. You got hurt and you’ve been asleep for a while, but you’re okay now. I’m gonna make everything okay.”

The band around Peter’s chest grew tighter. “B-Beck?” The name didn’t feel familiar in his mouth. “I—I got hurt? But I don’t… I can’t—I can’t remember anything.” He stumbled over his words and his hands came up to clutch at the collar of his shirt. He wracked his brain desperately, searching for anything he remembered, but came up with nothing. Memories floated just out of reach, and no matter how hard Peter tried, he couldn’t bring any of them to the front of his mind.

He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t— and his throat felt tight and his hands shook—

“Mr.—"

Beck grabbed his shoulders. “Hey, breathe, Peter. I know you’re scared but it’s going to be okay. I’m here. Just breathe.”

“But I can’t—why can’t I remember anything?”

“You’re fine. You had a head injury and you must have developed amnesia. I know it’s scary but I’m going to help you remember everything properly. Now just breathe. In—and out.”

Peter struggled to follow Beck’s instructions as Beck worked him down from a panic attack, but eventually, the band around his chest loosened. Peter pulled his no longer shaking hands away from his collar and Beck took them, threading his fingers through Peter’s.

“Feeling alright now?”

“I… think so.”

“Well I guess I should reintroduce myself, huh?” Beck said with a smile. Peter smiled back weakly, still shaky. “I’m Quentin Beck, but you call me Beck, and I’m your mentor. We’ve known each other for a while now.”

Peter’s eyebrows furrowed. He scanned Beck’s face. The man’s eyes were a piercing blue and stared into his own with a strange intensity.

“I don’t… remember you. I—I’m sorry—”

Beck shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. I understand. And don’t force yourself to remember anything either, you might hurt yourself. I’m here for you, okay?”

Peter looked down at their intertwined hands. “Okay,” he whispered. “How do we know each other?”

That prompted Beck to scoff a little. “Try saying this without sounding insane. We’re superheroes. You probably won’t remember, but you have superpowers, and so do I. We use them to help people.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s not as glamorous a life as you’d expect.”

“Superpowers?” Peter repeated. He screwed up his eyebrows as he tried to remember something, anything. The lack of any memories at all was disconcerting, but he pushed away that train of thought before he panicked again. Beck was here, and he had promised to help him. It would be okay.

Beck leant back, releasing one of Peter’s hands, and waved his fingers lazily. A few wispy clouds appeared and swirled between Beck’s fingers for a moment before disappearing in a crackle of lightning. Beck snapped his fingers and a flame appeared from them like a lighter, and then, with another wave of his fingers, his whole hand disappeared entirely from the wrist up.

Peter’s eyes widened. “What was that?”

Beck’s hand appeared again. “Illusions,” he said, spreading his arms proudly. “In battle they’re a little more impressive, trust me.”

“That was so cool!” Peter sat up more. “What about me? What can I do?”

“You have super strength, and super senses. And you can walk on walls. Your specialty’s more stealth and power, whereas my powers are a little flashier.”

“And we help people? Is it just us, or are there others?”

The words hung in the air. Beck looked away, composing himself, and Peter’s stomach sank. He’d said the wrong thing.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“No, it’s alright. You don’t remember, so I need to tell you. It’s not right to leave you in the dark, but… later. You need to eat. I’ll go make you something. There’s a bathroom next door if you want—it looks pretty awful, but there’s clean, hot water.”

Peter glanced around. This didn’t exactly look like the type of place to have running water. “Um, where are we?”

Beck’s face darkened. “An abandoned office in New York. I know, I know. I wish we were anywhere but here, and that we could go to a hospital so you could get treated properly, but we can’t. They’ll find us there.”

A shiver ran down Peter’s spine. He pulled the blanket closer.

“But this place is empty, and they haven’t turned off the water and electricity yet, so it’ll do for now. I’m going to find us a way out of here soon, okay?” Beck patted Peter’s shoulder, then paused for a moment and reached up to ruffle Peter’s hair. “I’m glad you’re awake. You scared me with that head injury, and I was worried you wouldn’t wake up. I was so, so worried.”

Beck’s hand lingered near the crown of Peter’s head for a moment, which made the back of his neck tingle again.

“Thank you for looking after me,” Peter said, quietly. “I’m sorry for making you worry.”

Beck’s face softened. He patted Peter’s cheek. “You’re a good kid. Now, go wash up. The kitchen’s down the hall when you’re ready.”

With that, he stood and left. Peter didn’t move immediately. Instead, he curled up into himself and pulled the blanket over his shoulders, taking a moment to breathe. Waking up with no memories was terrifying, and he felt lost, drifting away without a tether. But Beck was there, and he would help him. It would be okay. Peter just… couldn’t help the feeling that he was missing something.

The back of his neck tingled again. Peter’s gaze snapped up and to his right, hovering somewhere near the corner where two walls met ceiling. He wasn’t sure why. There was nothing there, but he could kind of hear a faint, electronic buzzing. Probably just the lightbulb.

He shook his head. Removing his IV made him wince a little, but he assumed it was okay to take out. After that he crept out of the room, the heavy metal door creaking ominously when he opened it. The bathroom was gross, like Beck had said. The ceramics were in dire need of a clean and there was a strange smell, but the water ran clear at least. The bathroom also had a window, which was more than he could say for his room. For some reason, the window had a sheet nailed up over it, softening all the shadows.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Peter pulled the sheet aside and peered out the window. He was a few stories up, and the window looked across an alley into the office building next door, which was similarly abandoned. When Peter pressed his face right up against the glass—with reluctance, given how long it had probably been since it was last cleaned—he could just make out a skyline of tall buildings in the distance.

With a rush of relief he realized that this, at least, felt familiar. Even if he recognized nothing else around him, the city outside the window felt like home.

Something glinted in the sunlight. It was a security camera mounted on the opposite building, pointed in Peter’s direction. A red LED blinked away just under the lens.

He turned away from the window, curiosity exhausted. He needed to freshen up, anyway. Partly because he felt kind of gross, but mostly because once he was done, Beck had said he would explain everything Peter needed to know. He could start maybe getting his memories back, and that was all he had the energy to care about right now.

***

He found Beck in a tiny kitchenette a few rooms down. Like the bathroom, it was run down and didn’t really look functional. As it was, there were barely any facilities: just a tiny table with two fold-out chairs, and a mini fridge and a microwave balanced on a dirty counter. There was a sheet over the window in this room, too.

They ate microwaved leftover Chinese in silence until Beck sighed and tapped his chopsticks against the table to get Peter’s attention.

“We should talk,” said Beck, but his face was a reflection of what it had been when Peter had said the wrong thing before.

“Um, you don’t have to—not if you don’t want to. It’s fine, really.”

Beck shook his head. “You need to know, kid. It’s your life too, and besides, you'll need to know for when we get our revenge.” He stared at the table for a moment as if gathering his thoughts. “You asked me if there were others. There… used to be. There was a whole team of us, and we called ourselves the Avengers.”

Given the somber mood, Peter tried to keep himself from visibly perking up when the name _Avengers_ felt familiar. “What happened to them?”

“Things… changed. They revealed their true colors. They used to pride themselves on how many people they had saved, on the changes they had made to the world. But with these successes came influence and power, and power corrupts even the best of us.

“Their priorities shifted. It wasn’t about saving people for them anymore. It was about fame and glory and power, and how they could benefit themselves. How they could use their fame to make sure their mistakes went unchecked.” Beck shook his head, face twisted in disgust. “They tore themselves up from the inside first. The government saw the Avengers’ lack of accountability and wanted to stop it—and rightfully so. But a fight broke out within the Avengers. People got hurt, and half the team split away—they couldn’t handle the thought of their fame and glory being stripped away from them, or of having to face their mistakes. But we stayed. You and I kept loyal to those we thought shared our ideals. We just wanted to help people, and we thought that was the best way.”

Beck smiled, reminiscing. “The two of us, we used to work together to invent things. Battle aids, weapons for the other team members, that sort of thing. Tech was invaluable to the Avengers, especially to those who stayed with us, the ones we _thought_ we could trust. Obviously, we were naive to think that. The worst of them was _Stark_ ”—Beck spat the name— “the arrogant, selfish bastard.”

The anger in Beck’s voice made Peter’s mouth go dry. He drank some of the water Beck had left out for him, which made his neck tingle again. What was up with that?

“I invented a new type of drone. It was meant to be used in a peaceful way, by getting to places we couldn’t be if we were overwhelmed during battles. But Stark didn’t want to use it to help. Stark chose to stay with the Avengers, but we were foolish to think he actually cared about helping others and not just himself. He was so _arrogant_. He took my tech and passed it off as his own whilst making a mockery of it. He ridiculed my life’s work.”

Beck’s face was slowly turning red, but then he glanced at Peter and composed himself. He leant in closer, eyes sincere. “He used my drones to hurt people, Peter. Innocent people, who’d done nothing except not give in to Stark’s delusions of grandeur. And yet he calls himself a hero.”

Peter rubbed at the back of his neck, trying to relieve the tingling. “That’s awful.”

Beck nodded. “And then when we confronted him, he turned against us. Him and another member of the Avengers, Rhodes. They condemned us. They hurt you. And people were lost in the crossfire.”

Absent mindedly, Beck twisted at a ring on his left ring finger. Peter’s throat tightened.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked.

Beck shook his head and hid the ring behind his other hand. “You did everything you could, Pete. I’m sorry that I couldn’t protect you, and now you have to go through everything a second time.”

A faint sound caught Peter’s attention, one that he couldn’t identify, probably because his head still felt foggy.

“But you’re awake now, so we can start planning,” Beck said, leaning forwards conspiratorially. “We have to get my stolen tech back, and soon. I can’t let my tech stay in Stark’s hands a moment longer.”

The sound grew louder. It was almost like a rocket, and something about it drew Peter’s attention in a way that felt important.

“And using my tech, he could hurt so many people. We need to—”

“Uh, Beck? What’s that sound?”

His mentor froze, eyebrows pinching together. “What sound?”

For a moment, Peter frowned in confusion, but then he remembered. Hadn’t Beck said that Peter had super senses? Beck probably couldn’t hear it yet.

“It’s… kind of like a rocket? And it’s getting closer—”

_“Shit!”_

Peter flinched when Beck jumped to his feet, his eyes intense.

“What did you do?” Beck snapped, voice like steel. It was jarring given how velvety and smooth his voice had been just a moment ago while lamenting their losses.

What? “I didn’t do anything! What’s happening?”

“You must have done something!” Beck’s voice was raised and uncontrolled. “Did you—did you go near a window?”

Peter leant back, eyebrows knitting together. “I—yeah? I… you didn’t say I couldn’t, I was curious—”

The rocket sound was now almost uncomfortably loud, and there was no way Beck couldn’t hear it. Beck grabbed Peter’s wrist and yanked him out of his seat, his grip tight enough to twist Peter’s skin painfully.

“Shit, _shit!_ ” Beck cried. His face visibly paled. “William!”

The door burst open and a man came in, face just as pale as Beck’s. Peter jumped. Who the hell was that?

The man weakly pointed upwards. “Is that—?”

“He knows we’re here,” Beck said, yanking Peter closer. “We need to get out, now.”

The man’s eyes flickered to Peter, then he nodded. “What’s the plan?”

Beck waved a hand abruptly, like he didn’t quite care for the theatrics. A moment later, Beck and William disappeared from sight, and when Peter glanced down at himself, he was also invisible.

“We need to get to the van,” Beck’s disembodied voice ordered. “Go collect anything we can’t afford to leave behind. Now!”

Judging by the sound of footsteps, William left. Beck’s grip tightened on Peter’s arm and Peter yelped in pain when Beck dragged him out the door and down a corridor.

“Beck? What’s happening?”

“I should have told you not to look out the window when you woke up. God dammit, I didn’t expect for that to be the first fucking thing you did the minute I left you alone!”

“I don’t—”

“He has eyes everywhere, Peter, and now you’ve led him straight to us!”

“ _Who?_ ”

“Stark,” Beck spat. “If he finds us, it’ll ruin everything.”

Peter glanced behind them fearfully. “I’m sorry Beck. I really am, I didn’t mean to bring him here. I didn’t know.”

Beck stopped, and his grip on Peter’s arm loosened a little. “It’s… not your fault. I should have explained—”

His words were cut off by a _bang!_ somewhere above them like a door getting kicked in. Without another word, Beck and Peter took off running, barreling down the corridor. They burst through the door to a stairwell and Peter almost tripped when Beck roughly dragged him down the stairs. Their footsteps echoed on the concrete walls like a klaxon announcing their location.

Wait. Why _were_ they broadcasting their location in such a way when they were invisible?

“Uh, Beck? Why don’t we just hide? He can’t see us, but he’ll be able to hear us if we keep—”

“That won’t work,” Beck snapped. “He’ll know where we are.”

“But how?”

“ _This isn’t the time, Peter!”_

Contrite, Peter closed his mouth and allowed Beck to painfully drag him down the stairs.

They reached the bottom floor and Beck yanked Peter through a series of identical corridors until they arrived at an unlocked side door. They paused as Beck scanned to make sure the coast was clear—presumably, since Peter couldn’t see him—and then they took off across the abandoned parking lot.

Peter glanced up behind him as they ran just in time to catch a glimpse of red and gold in a window. The sight pulled at something in his chest but before he could examine the feeling, he almost tripped, so he turned around to focus on running.

They ran for several minutes before Beck ducked into an alley out of sight from the abandoned office building. A van was parked there and after a jingle of invisible keys, Beck unlocked the back doors and dragged Peter inside.

After a long moment, Beck slammed the doors shut, and the illusion fell. Peter blinked down at his hands while Beck pulled him deeper into the van, closer to the seats at the front. They sat there for a moment, Beck panting heavily until he got his breath back.

“I’m sorry for shouting, Peter,” Beck said, “but the Avengers are powerful, and we have to take them seriously. They can find us almost anywhere, especially Stark. And I can’t let you get hurt again, Peter. I need you.”

Beck glanced out the front windshield and then placed a hand on the back of Peter’s neck, making it tingle. “You’re so important, Peter. I have a plan to make everything right, but it just won’t work without you. I need you, Pete. Even with your amnesia, and your injury, I know you’ll do amazing. You always do, kid. So stay safe, okay? We need to take the threat of the Avengers seriously because I won’t stand a chance against them without you at my side.”

Peter nodded, face warming. Beck smiled and ruffled Peter’s hair.

The driver’s side door opened, and an invisible weight climbed in. The illusion fell after a moment, revealing William, who was carrying a bag haphazardly stuffed with various electrical equipment.

“I couldn’t get it all,” William said as he slammed the door shut. “Stark’s going to find some of it.”

Beck climbed through into the passenger’s seat. “That can’t be helped. He knows we have it; so long as he can’t use it to trace us, then it doesn’t matter.”

William nodded as he started up the van. “I shut it all down. He won’t find us.”

They pulled out onto the road, heading away from their abandoned office building. The atmosphere between Beck and William was tense in light of their narrow escape. Peter, on the other hand, was simply curious about the city outside the van. He considered climbing up to look out the windshield, eager to catch another fleeting moment of familiarity, but given what had happened the last time, he decided against it. He sat on the floor, hugging his knees to his chest, and tried not to think too hard about the incessant tingling in the back of his neck and what it might be trying to tell him.

Eventually after they’d driven several blocks, Beck and William relaxed. Peter glanced up and caught William looking at him in the rear-view mirror.

“So now the kid’s awake, when are we going ahead with the plan?” William asked.

Beck shifted uncomfortably. “Not right after we drew Stark’s attention. We’ll wait a few days. Plus it gives us more time to explain everything to the kid.”

William nodded at that, and the van fell silent. Well, mostly silent. That electronic buzzing sound from before was back, which meant it couldn’t have been the lights. Peter glanced around, trying to find its source, but nothing leapt out to him. That was… weird. Maybe it was related to the tingling in his neck?

When no answers came to mind, Peter hugged his knees tighter to his chest and turned his attention to what little of the city he could see out the windshield from where he sat. They continued to drive in silence, away to somewhere safe where Stark couldn’t find them.

***

The next few days passed dully, holed up in another abandoned building whilst Beck slowly fed Peter information about the Avengers. This involved Beck, watching Peter’s reaction like a hawk, showing him intricate illusions to help him learn to recognize Tony Stark and his Iron Man armor, as well as James Rhodes, also known as War Machine. Apparently, they were two of the very few Avengers left after the argument that had torn the team in half, and they were the ones who would cause them the most problems if they ran into them.

Peter had hoped that the illusions might help bring some memories back, but they never did. The illusions sometimes did feel familiar—Tony Stark’s face, for example, tugged at something in Peter’s chest, just like that glimpse he’d caught of the Iron Man armor the other day had. But he never remembered anything solid, just vague flashes that he couldn’t hold on to. The fogginess in his head never let up either—probably due to that head injury.

Peter also never really saw William after that first day. Apparently, the man had a job at the Avengers compound, which was key to their plan, the details of which Peter still hadn't been told. Beck had only vaguely outlined their grand plan to him a few times—something to do with infiltrating the compound—and it made Peter nervous, knowing that the day was coming sometime soon but not knowing exactly when, or what it would entail.

Especially given the fear in Beck’s eyes when he’d realized Peter had accidentally led Stark to them. Beck was normally so confident and sure of himself. How awful must this Stark guy be if he made Beck tremble in fear?

Beck and Peter had spent most of their time over the last few days together, Beck cheering Peter up and trying his best to help him remember things. Although Beck occasionally struck Peter as a little… unstable, most of the time he was warm and friendly, with endless patience for Peter’s lack of knowledge and a compliment to hand for whenever Peter was feeling down. Peter quickly grew to like Beck and began to find a sense of home in his company, despite the amnesia.

But the tingling in the back of his neck never let up and, for someone who had recently woken up from a traumatic head injury-induced coma, Peter couldn’t help but notice that he wasn’t in any sort of pain.

***

The lights stayed on deep into the night. Yet again, his scanners had found no results. He started the program anew and tugged at his hair, having to physically stop himself from yanking it out. He’d been so close, and they’d slipped through his fingers this time, but it wouldn’t happen again. It couldn’t happen again.

He would find them. It was only a matter of time.


	2. i'm starting to cave, i'm losing my flame

The lights of the Avengers compound lit up the dark forest ahead of them like a beacon. Peter, sat in the passenger seat of the van with a black bandana tied across his lower face, glanced at Beck. His face was also covered, and it was hard to read his expression with only his eyes visible, but his hands were white knuckled where they gripped the steering wheel. Beck had been anxious all day, his anxiety increasing exponentially as night time drew closer.

As a result, so had Peter’s.

William was not with them. He’d stayed late at the compound under the guise of finishing up a project. A few minutes ago Beck had let William know of their approach, and he would now be on his way to the security office to help Beck and Peter break in undetected.

Peter glanced down at the gun in his lap and forced down his nausea at the thought of what William was going to do to get the security guards out of the way.

No matter how hard Peter tried, his attention kept landing back on the gun. The ever-present fogginess in his mind didn’t help; he couldn’t focus on anything else. The gun was cold to the touch and surprisingly heavy once loaded. He hadn’t even wanted it, and had tried to refuse it, but Beck had forced it into his hands as he explained the plan, not taking no for an answer.

“You’re not going in there without a weapon, Peter. I know you have your powers but a visible weapon goes a long way, and if we can get him out of that suit, it also makes killing Stark a hell of a lot easier.”

Because that was their plan, their endgame. Break in. Steal Beck’s tech. Get out. And then, with the strength of Beck’s tech behind them, kill Stark and Rhodes. Peter had shuddered at the bloodthirst in Beck’s eyes as he explained the plan that morning.

And Beck had insisted that Peter be the one to kill Stark. The very thought made Peter’s limbs lock with fear, and he’d excused himself to use the bathroom shortly after that. As he’d stood over the sink, nausea rising in his throat, he’d wondered whether or not he would be able to kill a man for Beck. After everything Beck had done for him—taking him to safety after his head injury when he could have left him to Stark, and then nursing him back to health—it felt wrong to refuse. But at the same time…

A few hundred yards away from the gates to the compound, Beck pulled over, parking the van as close to the tree line as possible. They sat in silence for a few minutes, Peter shaking with apprehension. Beck wordlessly offered Peter a water bottle and Peter pulled down his bandana to drink, ignoring the way it aggravated the tingling in the back of his neck.

Their comms crackled. “All set up.”

Beck nodded at William’s voice. “Wait until my signal.”

They climbed out of the van. Peter, his nervous jitters only getting worse with each passing minute, waited by the roadside as Beck went and fumbled with something in the back of the van—he didn’t collect any equipment that Peter could see—and then the van turned invisible.

Beck joined Peter by the roadside and paused for a moment.

“You alright, kid?”

Peter glanced towards the glowing lights in the distance. His knees felt weak at the thought of the people hiding behind the compound’s walls and the terrible things they’d done. The Avengers had already hurt Peter, killed Beck’s family, and caused who knew how many other casualties—what would happen to Beck, Peter, and William if they were caught?

Stern, glowing eyes flashed across Peter’s vision. “I’m scared,” he admitted, voice small.

Beck sighed, readjusting his holster. “We have to do this, Peter. Stark’s going to hurt people if we don’t stop him. And you don’t want those people on your conscience, do you?”

Peter shook his head. Deep down, he knew Beck was right. If he couldn’t push through his own fear to save people, then what right did he have to call himself a hero? But the picture Beck had painted over the last week of Stark as a cold, violent killer wouldn’t leave Peter’s mind.

“No,” he said.

Beck nodded. He readjusted Peter’s bandana so that it sat higher up on his face, and then patted his shoulder. “Then let’s go, kid.”

It was slow progress as they made their way towards their entrance point, because every few minutes Beck stopped to check in with William that they hadn’t tripped any alarms. Beck didn’t show any outward signs of fear, but his voice was slightly thinner than normal. If Peter was terrified based on second-hand stories of the Avengers, he couldn’t imagine how much more terrifying the thought of facing them would be for Beck, who still remembered the pain of the Avengers’ betrayal and the grief of their losses in painful clarity.

Once the wall of the compound came into view between the trees, Beck held out a hand to stop Peter.

“Let’s get that illusion going,” Beck said to William. “All ready?”

“Ready to go,” William confirmed.

Peter didn’t see Beck do anything, but a moment later, an alarm rang out in the distance. Beck grabbed onto Peter’s shoulder as the two of them turned invisible.

That was their cue. Beck’s hand led Peter through the trees until they reached the wall, which Peter quickly scaled. He was still adapting to being sticky—he’d spent the majority of his second day awake simply exploring the full extents of the powers that he’d completely forgotten about. Thankfully, the stickiness was mostly instinctual, and after a few tumbles, he had quickly mastered it again.

Peter reached the top and then helped Beck up too. From their slight vantage point they scanned the compound. A group of guards ran past, shouting orders to one another, completely oblivious to their presence. Peter followed their trajectory with his eyes, his gaze eventually landing on a giant creature attacking the far side of the compound. It was vaguely humanoid in shape and made of large plates of rock shifting over a molten core. Blazing eyes of magma scanned the compound. Its gaping maw of fire opened and it roared, sending shivers down Peter’s spine.

“That’s terrifying,” Peter whispered.

Beck landed on the ground below with a thump. “Come on, Peter. We need to hurry.”

Peter followed him. They’d chosen their point of entrance because it was the part of the wall closest to the R&D building, which was where Beck’s stolen tech was stored. A quick sprint across the manicured lawn brought them to a side door.

Beck patted Peter’s back. “Be careful. My illusions won’t cover you in there.”

“I will.”

Peter climbed up the outside of the building until he reached a vent that was around ten feet off the ground, shot Beck a thumbs up he quickly realized Beck couldn’t see—stupid foggy head—and crawled inside. It was dirty and gross in there and smelled strongly of dust. Like Beck had said, the illusion wore off fairly quickly, his hands appearing in front of him abruptly. He crawled through the vent as quietly as he could, paying close attention to his enhanced senses and listening out for any signs of people below him. He didn’t hear any—it was evening, so the building was mostly empty.

He arrived at an interior vent opening and pushed the cover out, catching it with his sticky fingers. From there, it only took him a few minutes to climb out, replace the cover, and then make his way through the building back to the side door. He winced a little bit as he opened the door, but it didn’t trip any alarms. Beck, still invisible, ruffled Peter’s hair to let him know he was there, and then the illusion fell over Peter again as they continued into the building.

Beck had to hold his wrist to ensure they didn’t get separated, but thankfully, unlike when they’d fled from the abandoned office building, his grip wasn’t bruising this time.

They moved as fast as they could while being as quiet as possible. Beck’s illusion had worked well to distract most of the compound’s security team, and they only had to duck into an alcove to avoid bumping into oncoming guards once as they made their way through the building.

Something about the place… left a weird feeling in Peter’s chest. It was not dissimilar to the tingling in the back of the neck, but while that felt like a warning, this felt like an encouragement.

They reached a staircase and began to head downwards, the sleek, modern interior of the stairwell a mirror to the run-down, decrepit stairwell of the office building.

“This feels familiar,” Peter whispered to Beck. “This place, I mean. Being here is almost like… déjà vu.”

Beck didn’t respond, and given that they were currently cloaked by the illusion, Peter couldn’t see how he reacted. He chewed at the inside of his cheeks at the slight and followed along silently.

The door to underground storage would have been inconspicuous if not for the large electronic lock mounted on the wall beside it. Satisfied that the corridor was empty—William confirmed that there was no-one headed their way—Beck lifted the illusion, and Peter pressed his hand against the fingerprint scanner. This was a detail of the plan that Peter wasn’t entirely convinced by. Even if they used to be part of the Avengers, why would their biometrics still be in the system after everything that had happened?

Peter’s heart pounded in his ears for the few seconds it took before the light turned green. He looked at Beck in surprise.

“You’re all clear,” William said through the comm. “System tried to flag him, but I caught it.”

“Great. Keep an eye out anyway,” said Beck as he led Peter through the door. To Peter, he said, “I’m not going to cloak us again. There shouldn’t be anyone here, and William’s covering the cameras.”

He reached out to readjust the bandana hiding Peter’s face once more just in case, and then continued on into the storage vault. The room was bright white and modern, every surface sleek and shiny. Glass cases displayed various drones, weapons, and other machines that Peter couldn’t get a good enough look at to guess the purpose of. There were also rows and rows of labelled drawers, and a cluster of high-tech computers, which was apparently where they were headed.

While Beck was occupied by the computers, Peter took the opportunity to look through a nearby set of shelves. He didn’t have much time to look before Beck called him over, however.

Beck gestured at another fingerprint scanner with a shrug. “They’re more secure than I thought.”

Peter pressed his hand against the scanner. Like before, a light turned green, and William confirmed that the system hadn’t flagged his prints. Beck patted Peter’s shoulder in thanks and then pushed him out of the way. Peter glanced down at the scanner as he did, his eyebrows knitting together.

“Why didn’t your prints work?”

Beck froze, his hands poised above the keyboard. There was a prolonged moment of silence where it felt like even William had frozen. Then Beck laughed and plugged a USB into the computer, pulling up the blueprints for various drones, projectors, and guns.

“I never really came down here much,” Beck said, eyes not moving from the screen. “I had interns to fetch things for me, so I never needed access, but you came down here all the time.”

“Oh,” Peter said quietly. He turned away and walked back to the shelves, pretending to admire the first thing he found—a drawer full off drill bits—but his hands were shaking. He glanced over his shoulder, watching Beck copy files onto the USB.

Beck had just lied to him. Why had he lied to him?

That tingling started up again. Peter rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, a nervous habit he’d picked up over the last few days. Sometimes it helped to calm down that tingling sensation, but most of the time it didn’t, and the tingling developed into almost an ache. He still wasn’t sure what that was about, and he’d decided against asking Beck. He wasn’t sure why. Something had just told him he shouldn’t.

He slammed the drawer of drill bits shut and looked over at Beck again, the tingling intensifying. Beck seemed to trust Peter—he’d have to, to put so much faith in Peter and his ability to take down Stark—but if he trusted him, why was he lying to him? Hiding something from him?

Peter didn’t want to possibly anger Beck while in the middle of the mission, so he turned back to examine the shelves again. He’d ask once they were safely home. Maybe Beck didn’t mean anything by it. Yeah—it was probably just a misunderstanding. Beck didn’t have to tell Peter everything.

Peter just didn’t like to think that the person he trusted most was deliberately keeping things from him.

***

Tony swerved and rolled, the stabilizers in his suit fighting to keep him airborne. Knowing that the monster they were fighting was an illusion and not instinctively flinching away when it swiped at him were two very different things; the fact that the drones responsible for the illusion could deal real damage didn’t help. He’d already had a few close calls and was running out of patience for this whole situation.

And besides, Tony’s mind was elsewhere as he blindly fired at an invisible drone FRIDAY told him was somewhere nearby.

Because _where’s the trick?_

This was the distraction. It was obvious. Even if Tony didn’t know Beck, didn’t know how he worked, this was so obviously a distraction. The creature was huge and intimidating but its goal appeared to be to wreak havoc on one small section of the parking lot. It swiped at Tony and Rhodey as they flew by, ate up cars and streetlamps to grow bigger, and roared at security as they evacuated employees—but it didn’t have a goal. It wasn’t trying to advance on the compound. It was just there, being all big and distracting and _where the hell was Beck?_

Beck was an idiot for goading Tony like this—he must know what Tony was going to do to him for taking his kid. Well, he was an idiot, or maybe ridiculously over-confident. In the end, it didn’t matter. If Beck wanted to serve himself up on a silver platter, Tony sure as hell wasn’t going to stop him.

“Careful!” Tony yelled as an invisible force clipped one of Rhodey’s legs. FRIDAY managed to get a lock on the offending drone and Tony fired his repulsor at it. The drone appeared in a burst of sparks and crashed to the ground below.

Tony grabbed one of Rhodey’s arms to stabilize him, the two of them pulling up and away from the illusion while Rhodey assessed the damage to his suit. They hovered there for a moment. Rhodey was the first to move, taking out several more drones in the blink of an eye, but before Tony could follow suit, FRIDAY spoke up.

“Boss, you have a non-emergency notification that I believe may be of interest.”

Tony frowned. In battle, FRIDAY knew not to bother with anything not of immediate concern. Tony knew better than to dismiss something that she had decided was worth his time.

“Let’s hear it, girl.”

“Mr. Parker is currently accessing files relating to BARF and other projects attributed to Quentin Beck.”

 _What?_ Red highlighted his vision as a drone flew by; Tony shot at it reflexively, mind already a million miles away from Beck’s distraction.

“What? Where—where is he, FRI? Are you sure it’s him?”

“Mr. Parker’s biometrics have been used to access files stored on a server within the storage levels of the R&D building. However, I have not received any other alerts that Mr. Parker is on the premises.”

Well that didn’t add up. If Peter was in the compound, FRIDAY should have spotted him immediately. “It’s definitely Peter’s biometrics?”

“Yes, boss.”

Then it was him. There was no way to fake that. Beck must have someone on the inside, helping him get in—they’d deal with that later.

A steely determination overcame Tony. He shot another drone out of the air—whilst he’d been talking to FRIDAY, Rhodey had taken out enough drones that the illusion had fallen—and tried to resist the urge to shoot it one, two, three more times as it fell.

“Rhodes!” he called, heat rising to his palms.

It was time to go get his kid back.

***

William’s voice crackled through the comms. “Fuck, _fuck!_ Get out, now!”

Beck froze for a moment, then yanked the USB out of the computer. He stumbled out of the chair and grabbed Peter, roughly pushing him towards the door.

“What’s going on?” Peter asked as they burst through the door into the corridor. The hairs on his arms stood up and he shivered involuntarily.

It took a moment for William to respond. “Stark,” he said, sounding breathless and distracted. “I don’t know how—nothing came up as getting flagged, but he’s heading our way.”

Peter’s throat tightened and his knees went weak. Beck’s expression darkened.

“That bastard.” He yanked at Peter’s sleeve. “We need to go. Now.”

They took off back the way they had come, William in their ears the whole way to tell them how far away Stark was and that he’d meet them by the side door of the R&D building. Peter’s jitters had come back twice as strong and he couldn’t help repeatedly glancing behind them. He wished Beck could make them invisible to at least give him some peace of mind, but if Stark was coming, he couldn’t. He’d see through them.

They only made it up a few flights of stairs before an explosion rocked the foundations of the building. Beck cursed and fumbled with the USB. He shoved it into Peter’s hands, his whole body radiating stress.

“Take this,” Beck said, words rushed. “Meet up with William and then _get out of here._ Don’t worry about me—you need to get out of here.”

What? Peter’s face screwed up at Beck’s misplaced selflessness. “No—Beck, I’m not going to leave you! Where are you going? What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to find another way out. We need to split up—I don’t want you getting caught because if you are, we’re ruined.”

“No—you’re going to get yourself captured, Beck. You don’t need to sacrifice yourself for me, we just need to go—”

“ _Shut up, Peter!_ ” Beck roared. “Stark’s going to find us, and you _need_ to get out or everything is ruined. You’re essential for what comes next, I need you to be the one to kill him. If he sees you, it’s all over. So just _listen to me, god dammit!_ ”

Peter gaped for a moment, neck aching from how intensely it was tingling, long enough that he heard rockets somewhere close by—the same rockets from the day he’d woken up.

“Get to William,” Beck snapped, and then took off in the opposite direction.

At a loss for what else to do, Peter shoved the USB into his pants pocket and started towards their escape route, Beck’s voice ringing in his ears.

The sleek, modern corridors were colder somehow as Peter ran through them completely alone. His body shook violently, and he almost stumbled a few times. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as if at any moment security guards would burst from the non-existent shadows and tackle him to the ground. To his blessed relief, however, the tingling had mostly gone silent.

Despite his anxiety, he ran into no-one as he ran towards his meeting point with William. The guards were most likely still at the other end of the compound, or even if they were making their way over, they wouldn’t arrive until long after Stark. Peter could hear the man somewhere in the building—the roar of his rockets, the clanking of his footsteps, the metallic quality of his voice. It sent shivers down Peter’s spine and he shuddered.

He ran until, just a few corridors away from the meeting point, a distant cry caught his attention.

_Beck._

The man cried out as if in fear, shortly followed by two metallic crashes. Without a second thought, Peter turned and began to sprint as fast as he could towards the sound of his mentor’s voice.

He didn’t care that Beck had no concern for if he was captured or not—Peter did. He wasn’t going to let him sacrifice himself, not when Peter could save him. They were _heroes_. This was what Peter was meant to _do_.

He strained his ears as he ran, struggling to tune in to voices coming from the other side of the large R&D building.

“How cute that you fell for the same trick twice,” said a voice that was definitely Beck’s, sounding slightly winded—or maybe in pain?

The next voice was rougher. Stark. “Cut the crap, Beck. Where is he?”

They were talking about him. Peter shivered. As much as he disagreed with Beck for sacrificing himself, he was correct that if they were both captured, things would only get worse. Nausea rose in his throat at the thought of being at the Avengers’ mercy.

Beck laughed. “Nowhere you’ll find him. You’re not going to win, _Stark_. You’re so arrogant that you think you’re untouchable, but you’re not.”

“We know he’s here,” Stark continued, ignoring Beck. “I don’t know who you got to help you sneak him past my security, but rest assured we’ll find out. We always find out, and then I’m going to win because I’m five steps ahead of you. Did you _really_ think you could use his biometrics to access your tech without my system realizing?”

“Of course. You must have so many contingencies for him. You care so _much_. Such a weakness… and yet so easy to exploit.”

Peter’s neck tingled and then a few moments later, footsteps caught his attention just around the corner. Panicked, he froze for a heartbeat, then scampered up a wall and pressed himself flush against the ceiling just as a group of guards raced past.

The ceiling felt safer, and he could move more quietly up there. He stayed there, crawling like a spider towards the sound of Beck’s voice.

“You’re psychopathic,” snapped Stark. “That technology was not yours. It was never going to be yours, which you agreed to the moment you signed your contract. And when you realized that didn’t sit well with you, you kidnapped a _child_. One that had nothing to do with this. And that’s your fatal mistake, Beck. There is no version of this where you come out on top.”

Peter’s hands fumbled. What…?

“Of course I’ll come out on top,” said Beck, something… chilling in his tone. “I’ve already won. My plan is _working_. He’ll do anything I want and he’s eaten up absolutely everything I’ve told him.”

“It won’t last, not matter what you’ve done to make him listen to you. He’s clever. He’ll spot the holes in whatever bullshit you’ve been spinning him sooner or later.”

“Enough.” That was a new voice—one with the same metallic quality as Stark’s. “We’re not entertaining your theatrics any longer, Beck. This ends now. Tell us where the kid is.”

Through an archway up ahead, Peter could see the Iron Man and War Machine armor. He’d found them. He pressed himself as close to the ceiling as he could and peered over the top of the archway into the room beyond.

It was chaos. What had once likely been a minimalist, sleek lobby was torn to pieces: shattered glass littering the floor, which was scorched in several places, and the walls riddled with bullet holes. Across the room was Beck, a trail of blood running from his nose, sprawled against an overturned couch with a metal band wrapped around his ankles. Next to him were two drones, sparking erratically.

Between Beck and Peter were Stark and Rhodes, clad in their huge armored suits. They stood with their gauntlets aimed at Beck’s head and ice bled through Peter’s veins at the sight. His heart pounded in his ears, and Peter knew what he had to do. Oh, God, the thought scared him though. But Beck needed him. He’d cared for Peter when he was in trouble—now it was time to return the favor.

Peter tightened the bandana around his face and climbed over the archway, onto the ceiling of the lobby, as silently as possible. His heartbeat was so loud he was terrified Stark would hear it. Just as he got into position, settling his hands into place, Beck spotted him, his eyes widening in horror.

Peter swung downwards with all his strength, planting a kick in the middle of Stark’s back. The huge suit went flying and crashed into the wall behind Beck. Rhodes spun, hand raised and ready to fire. Peter dropped from the ceiling and landed lightly in a crouch, watching the man’s moves carefully.

His neck tingled aggressively—almost painfully—as the silver suit let out a whine and a burst of light shot from the gauntlet. Peter flipped out of the way, flinching at how loudly the burst of energy exploded against a tile, leaving it scorched.

Rhodes went to shoot him again, but the gauntlet took several seconds to charge. It gave Peter enough time to dodge and throw himself at the guy, a desperate kick strong enough to dent the suit’s chest plate and send it crashing to the floor.

Peter’s attacks weren’t skillful in anyway: they were just pure, unleashed power fueled by fear, a strength in his limbs that not even he could fully comprehend.

Stark was back up on his feet already, sizing Peter up like prey. His gauntlet aimed—he had a quicker charging time than Rhodes did, Peter realized in a panic. He cried out and grabbed Stark’s wrist, aiming it up and away just in time for it to fire. He missed the way that Stark froze at his voice before Peter drove a fist into the side of his head, knocking him down.

Beck was still on the floor, watching the unfolding fight in horror. Peter tried to run to him, but Rhodes intercepted him. A blast of energy went off too close to Peter’s face, leaving his ears ringing, and he cried out again. He stumbled and shoved Rhodes away from him. It wasn’t quite hard enough—within moments he heard the whine of the gauntlet charging up once more.

“Rhodey, stop!” cried Stark.

Rhodes jerked, the gauntlet blast ricocheting off the ceiling. Peter spun, anticipating an attack from behind, but to his surprise, Stark wasn’t gearing up to attack him. Instead, the red and gold suit opened up and the man inside stumbled out. There was blood pouring from his forehead, on the side Peter had hit him, and he looked different to how he had in Beck’s illusions. His under eyes were bruised and his beard was scraggly, like he hadn’t been taking care of it recently. His face was pale; his eyes were strangely red.

Stark stepped forwards, and Peter tensed, his knees going weak. He didn’t want to hit him now—outside the suit, he would probably kill him—but the thought of him coming any closer tightened Peter’s throat, threatening to choke him.

Beck’s words echoed in his mind. _A visible weapon goes a long way._

In a snap, Peter yanked the gun out of its holster and aimed it straight at Stark’s face.

Something about the tension in the room shifted. Stark blinked rapidly, his eyes flickering between Peter and the gun. Time seemed to slow for a moment, and in that brief lull something about Stark’s face sent a spark of warmth through Peter’s sternum. His neck wasn’t tingling, but a feeling similar to it blossomed in his chest.

Stark’s voice was soft, like a breath. “Peter?”


	3. is it a dream that comes crashing down on me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: hand-wavy medical science, non-consensual drug use

“Peter?”

It was strange, hearing his name said with such tender disbelief by the man who had hurt him, betrayed Beck, and killed Beck’s family. His skin crawled with discomfort.

Rhodes disengaged his helmet. “Oh, shit. Kid?” He lowered his gauntlet but remained in the armor.

Peter’s eyebrows furrowed, grip tightening on the gun. Why weren’t they attacking? From what Beck had told him, they should be taking this opportunity to finish off what they had started in the battle Peter couldn’t remember—the one that had left him in a coma and stolen his memories. Beck said they were cruel. So why had Stark taken off his armor and made himself more vulnerable?

They’d hurt and restrained Beck. Why weren’t they doing the same to him?

Stark stepped closer. Peter flinched away and cocked the gun, trying to ignore the way his hand shook. Stark immediately stopped moving, holding his hands up. The gesture was less defensive and more… placating, like Peter was a skittish animal.

“Okay, Pete,” said Stark. His voice still had that tender quality to it. “I’m going to stay right here, alright? But in return you have to help me. I don’t know what he’s done to you, but we need to work together to break you out of it.”

What? Keeping the gun levelled on Stark’s chest, Peter inched backwards until he reached Beck. He crouched beside him and used his free hand to tug at the metal band restraining his ankles. It didn’t break.

“No,” Beck snapped, spit flying. He shoved Peter, glancing over at Stark. “I told you to _leave!_ I told you to _get out of here!_ How could I have made it clearer that you _weren’t to be seen?_ ”

Peter paused at the unrestrained anger in Beck’s voice, and the gun slipped slightly. His hand shot to the back of his neck. “I wasn’t going to leave you, not with them!”

“You idiot. Do you know how fucking _long_ I’ve been planning this, and you’ve ruined _everything!_ ”

“What—?”

“See, Beck? You were never going to win.”

Peter flinched at Stark’s voice, correcting the aim of the gun. “Don’t get any closer!”

Stark hadn’t even moved, but the warning stood.

“I’m not, Pete. I’m staying right here, I promise. In return, will you step away from Beck?”

Peter turned away from Stark, not even considering his request. He didn’t like the way that Stark’s armor stood defensively behind him, one hand aimed at Beck’s head. Peter glanced around the lobby, calculating, his heart pounding so hard that Stark could probably see it. This wasn’t good. How was he going to get Beck to safety like this? They’d never make it back off the compound.

Free Beck first. After a moment’s hesitation, Peter dropped the gun to use both hands to tug at the metal restraint, but neither Stark nor Rhodes got any closer.

Peter strained, pulling at the metal with all his supernatural strength. He groaned in frustration. Why wasn’t it breaking?

“It’s vibranium, Pete. You helped me test it, don’t you remember? And it passed the Peter test with flying colors. You’re not going to be able to free him, so how about you step away?”

“Shut up!”

That goddamn tingling was back again, and his head was still foggy. His brain was mush and he wished that he could just think clearly for one damn second. He needed to help get Beck to safety, but he couldn’t _think_ like this.

“I’m not going to shut up, Pete.” Why was Stark calling him Pete? “My best quality is that I never know when to shut up. But I definitely know when _not_ to shut up, and this is one of those times. You’re confused, kid. I don’t know what he’s done to you, but he’s done something to your head. Listen to me. I can help you, but you just have to listen to me.”

What was Stark trying? Did he really expect Peter to trust him?

“You’re lying to me.” Peter’s voice was short. “You’re not going to help me. Beck’s already told me everything I needed to remember.”

One of Stark’s eyebrows quirked. “Remember? So it’s amnesia, huh?”

Peter, panicked, glanced at Beck.

Stark laughed. “Okay, okay. We can work with amnesia. Definitely preferable to brainwashing or mind control.”

Beck’s face contorted in anger and he struggled to lift himself higher against the couch. “You’re fucking useless,” he snapped at Peter.

“Beck, I—I’m trying to help you!” Peter yanked at the restraint again, achieving nothing. “I don’t understand what’s going on!”

“You’re being the direct opposite of helpful. You wanna be helpful? You put a fucking bullet in Stark’s head right now. Then you do the same for Rhodes. _Do it, now!_ ”

Peter didn’t move. “Beck?” he said weakly. “I’m not gonna—”

Beck grabbed Peter’s collar. “No, because you’re a child. A useless, naïve child who I based my _entire_ fucking plan on and now you’ve ruined _everything_ —!”

“Let go of the kid, Beck,” said Rhodes, gauntlet aimed at Beck’s head.

When Beck didn’t, Peter yanked the man’s hands away himself, stumbling backwards slightly. He rubbed the back of his neck. What was going on? What had happened to the man that had been so worried for him when he woke up, who patiently coaxed him back to who he was and helped him to remember everything?

His hands shook violently, and he had to resist the urge to wrap his arms around himself.

“Peter,” said Stark, and Peter’s gaze snapped to him. “I know this is painful to hear, but Beck’s been lying to you. Every single thing you remember him telling you is a lie. He’s manipulated you, spun you a story to get you to do what he wants.”

No. No. That couldn’t—Beck wouldn’t—he’d _trusted_ him. Beck cared about him. Why would he lie to him like that? He wouldn’t do that.

Except… he’d lied, back in the storage vault—but that wasn’t the same, that was a misunderstanding—

“No,” Peter whispered. “No, he looked after me. He cares about me.”

Beck laughed, the sound sharp and painful to Peter’s ears. “Oh, how _sweet_. He’s so trusting, isn’t he, Stark?” He clicked his teeth. “How adorable.”

A whine and a flash of light; Rhodes fired his gauntlet at Beck, narrowly missing Peter. Beck’s head smacked against the solid underside of the couch and he slumped over, unconscious.

Peter gasped. He stumbled to his feet, scrabbling to pick up the gun and aim it at Rhodes. His hands shook violently, betraying his fear.

“I’m sorry, Peter,” Stark said and he… sounded genuine. “I wish this hadn’t happened to you, but it’s true. Beck’s lied to you. I don’t know what he’s told you specifically but must have lied to you for you to be doing this. For you to even be aiming that gun at us—you’d never do that if it weren’t for Beck’s lies.”

He hadn’t even really wanted the gun.

“No. He helped me,” Peter said, voice cracking. “He helped me remember everything.”

Only, he hadn’t helped him remember _everything_ , had he? Beck hadn’t told Peter anything about who he was, what he liked and disliked, who his friends were and how he and Beck had met. There’d never been anything warm about any of the memories Beck chose to remind him of—only ever cruelty, pain, anger. Things to incite a sense of revenge in Peter, to help him to understand Beck’s plan and his place within it.

But—but that didn’t mean Beck was manipulating him. He—they needed to do the mission. That was more important. He didn’t… lie, didn’t paint a picture of a world that didn’t exist just to manipulate Peter. That couldn’t have happened. He refused to accept that. He couldn’t accept that, because everything he knew was what Beck had told him, so if he’d lied—

Peter blinked rapidly. “He—he—”

“He took you, kid.” _You kidnapped a child._ “He staged an attack, and you were there because you’re _good_ and you’d never let something happen without helping. He led you away from me and Rhodey, and by the time we’d realized what was going on and had taken out all the drones, you were already gone.”

The gun slipped slightly. “Drones?”

Stark’s eyes shone with sincerity. “He uses drones equipped with projectors to create illusions. Hard to spot at first, but once you know what you’re looking for they’re easy enough to detect and then take out with an EMP.”

Peter glanced at the two sparking drones on the floor. Beck’s illusions had all been done by drones? He supposed that didn’t… _not_ make sense. If Beck had been able to make them invisible, he could do the same to the drones. And it would explain why Beck had said Stark would be able to detect them even if they were invisible, if he had scanners that could find the drones.

He looked back at Stark. “He told me you stole his tech and used it to hurt people. He said you attacked me, you hurt me, and you killed his family.”

He wasn’t sure why he said it. He wasn’t sure what response he wanted from Stark—was it worse if it was a lie, or if it was true?

Stark shook his head emphatically. “I’d never hurt you, Pete, never in a million years. You, or anyone else. And I’ve never even met his family, if he has one. He was an employee, here in the R&D department of Stark Industries. He made drones like the ones on the floor. I defunded his project because he wanted to weaponize it, and Stark Industries doesn’t make weapons anymore. He didn’t like that I took his tech—even though by contract nothing he created for Stark Industries belonged to him—and he crossed a line, so I fired him.”

Peter’s grip on the gun weakened. That… added up with what he’d heard Stark say to Beck, back when he was in the hallways and they didn’t realize he could hear them.

Stark glanced at Beck with contempt. “He decided to go after you for revenge, Pete, and I’m so sorry.”

“None of us could have predicted it, Peter,” said Rhodes, “but we haven’t stopped looking for you since you disappeared. Especially not Tony.”

Peter shuffled. His movement took him closer to Beck, and he rubbed the back of his neck to try to relieve the tingling. “And… what about me?”

“What about you, Pete?”

“If… if everything he’s told me is a lie, then… who am I in all this? Why would he… do that to me?”

Stark’s face softened. “You’re… you’re our teammate, Spider-Man. And… you’re my kid, Pete. You mean everything to me, and I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you that enough before. I’m not good with feelings. But it’s true. I love you, kid. There are dozens of people with the security clearance Beck needed to access his tech, but he chose you because he knew how much you mean to me, and how much it would hurt me to know you were gone.”

The gun shook, and Peter’s vision blurred.

“How can I—how can I trust you? How can I know that anything you’re telling me is true?”

If Beck had lied to him, and everything he thought he knew was a lie… he couldn’t allow that to happen for a second time.

“Your neck,” said Stark. Peter froze. “I saw you rubbing it. It’s been bothering you, hasn’t it? I don’t suppose Beck told you what that meant. It’s your sixth sense, Pete. You call it your _Spidey sense_ , though we did try to get you to stop. It warns you about danger.”

Peter glanced at Beck. His neck tingled.

“It’s going off around him, isn’t it? Could you do me a favor, Pete? Could you step away from him? Closer to me?”

For a moment, Peter hesitated. What if it was a trick? But… as hard as he tried, he couldn’t imagine this being a trick. It all added up. Everything Stark had told him added up and was confirmed by the conversation Peter had overheard. And Stark had known about the tingling in Peter’s neck. Well, he could still have known about the tingling if Beck’s story were true—they were Stark’s teammates even in Beck’s story—but if that were the case, the tingling would go off around Stark too.

It could all be a lie. Maybe the tingling didn’t warn about danger at all. But everything else Stark had said rang true, and it would… make sense if that's what the tingling did. It hadn’t ever gone off when Beck wasn’t with him—except when the guards almost found him earlier. So if it was true, and the tingling sensed danger, then all he had to do to know if he could trust Stark was… step closer. See if it went off.

The one tiny step felt like a mile. It took him further from Beck, closer to Stark, and something in his chest sighed in relief.

Stark nodded encouragingly. “That’s it. Something happened, didn’t it, Pete?”

Weakly, Peter nodded.

“The tingling stopped,” he breathed.

“That’s it,” said Stark again. “I’m gonna step forwards now too. Is that okay?”

Peter was finding it increasingly difficult to keep a solid grip on the gun. His throat tightened. “I don’t—I’m—I’m scared,” he whispered.

Stark’s eyebrows twisted up in empathy. “Oh, Pete. I know. I know you’re scared. I’m scared for you, buddy. But if we do this, if I step a little closer and everything’s okay, then you won’t need to be scared anymore. Yeah?”

Screwing up his face, Peter nodded shakily, giving his permission, and Stark stepped closer. Peter flinched instinctively, but then he stopped and actually listened to his senses. They weren’t telling him he was in danger.

“Can I hold your hand, Pete?”

Shakily, Peter held out one hand. Stark’s fingers brushed his, but his neck didn’t tingle. When Stark gently took Peter’s hand, his sixth sense breathed a gentle sigh of relief. _Finally_ , it seemed to say.

“I know you’re scared right now, but everything’s going to be okay,” said Stark, his voice low and soft. “We’re going to fix whatever he’s done to you, and everything’s going to be okay.”

It was so similar to what Beck had told him when he had first woken up back in that abandoned office, such a perfect mirror that for a moment Peter was afraid to believe him. But he remembered how Beck’s promises had made his neck tingle, had set off his sixth sense. Stark’s, however, did the complete opposite. They put his sixth sense at rest, left a warm feeling in Peter’s sternum.

That feeling, he realized slowly, was trust.

He was still holding the gun, aimed somewhere around Stark’s knees, but it was suddenly too heavy in his hand and he dropped it. It clattered to the ground. With a shaking hand, Peter reached up and pulled the bandana covering his face down to his neck.

Stark scanned his face, taking in every detail of it, and something in his features softened, smoothing out the wrinkles across his forehead. “Can I hug you, Pete?”

Peter still felt jittery. “I don’t—I don’t—”

“Okay, okay. That’s okay.”

Guilt was like a stone sitting in his stomach. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, kiddo. I understand. Is it okay if I keep holding your hand, or do you want me to let go?”

In response, Peter wordlessly tightened his grip on Stark’s hand. Stark rubbed his thumb across Peter’s knuckles, helping to ease the tension from his shoulders. Peter glanced at Rhodes, who watched the two of them with a soft smile.

Stark gestured at Beck. “Deal with him,” he said to Rhodes. “I’m going to take Pete to the medbay. If he wakes up anytime soon, find out everything you can about what he’s done to Peter.”

Rhodes nodded. Before he could do anything, however, Peter interrupted.

“There’s another guy,” he said, voice small. “By the side door to this building, closest to the perimeter wall. Or… that’s where I was meant to meet him.”

The words tasted like betrayal, even though Peter now knew that was irrational. They betrayed him first—they kidnapped him, took his memories, lied to him. Turning William in shouldn’t make guilt stir in his gut, and yet it did.

Stark’s thumb was still brushing against Peter’s knuckles, grounding him. “Rhodey, you got him?”

Rhodes nodded. “I’ll get Happy and organize security with him. You go take care of your kid.”

***

Peter didn’t recognize the medbay at all, but it stirred a sense of familiarity in him, just like the R&D building had earlier. Unfortunately, he had to let go of Stark’s hand to lie down on the bed when the doctor—a kind-eyed woman named Helen—arrived, and he mourned the loss of warmth. At least Stark stayed by his bedside, as close as he could without being in the way.

Calling him Stark seemed wrong now. It was how Beck had referred to him, too cold and full of hatred for the feelings of safety the man invoked in Peter. Calling him Tony didn’t quite feel right either, but it was better than Stark.

Since Peter hadn’t been hurt during the mission, the doctor spent most of her time trying to find the cause of Peter’s amnesia. They were about to send him for an MRI when he mentioned how foggy his head was. Helen frowned at that and decided to do a blood test instead. By the time Peter finished the extra-large pizza that Tony ordered and insisted he ate, for Tony’s own peace of mind, the results came back.

“I was drugged?”

Helen nodded. “Your blood results showed a high level of a drug closely related to various types of general anesthetic. I’ve never seen anything quite like it before, but these types of drugs can often be used to induce memory loss. They don’t tend to be particularly long-lasting, though, so it was probably issued fairly regularly.”

Peter shook his head. “It can’t have been that regularly, I would have noticed—” Then a cold shock went through his chest. “Everything he gave me to drink set off my sixth sense.”

He shuffled uncomfortably on the bed, feeling violated. A hand patted his shoulder comfortingly—Tony.

“But they’ll wear off soon, right?” Tony asked.

“Yes, now that he’s not receiving a regular dose,” said Helen. “We’ll put him on fluids to help him metabolize it, and he should be fine.”

Peter’s heart raced at the thought of finally getting his memories back, of finally being able to confirm that he’d made the right choice in trusting Tony. There were no signs that he hadn’t, but no longer having to rely on blind trust would be nice. He wanted to feel like he _knew_ something, something that he’d remembered himself and hadn’t been told.

Tony nodded. “Thanks Helen.”

She set Peter up with an IV and told Tony to monitor him and let her know if he showed any signs of withdrawal symptoms. After that she left, leaving Peter and Tony alone.

Tony held out one hand, an invitation. Peter took it. He still wasn’t quite ready to be hugged, not when his head was still so foggy and his limbs still shook a little with lingering adrenaline, but holding Tony’s hand was nice.

Tony glanced at his phone. “Pepper’s called your aunt. She was working, but she’s taken the rest of her shift off and she’ll be here in a couple of hours.”

Peter’s stomach sank. “My… aunt?”

Tony’s face reflected how Peter felt. “Shit, kid. Yeah, your aunt. One of the strongest women I’ve ever met, and she loves you like it could save the world. She’s been worried sick about you.” Tony squeezed Peter’s hand. “She’ll be so happy you’re safe.”

That did nothing to stop the guilt swirling in his stomach. “I’m sorry I don’t remember her, or you, or… or anyone else. I—I can’t even name anyone else. He didn’t _tell_ me about anyone else—”

Sensing Peter’s growing distress, Tony scooted closer. “It’s not your fault, kid. No one’s going to blame you. What Beck did to you was _cruel_. So incredibly cruel, and we all just want to make sure you’re okay—we’re not going to be mad at you for not being okay right away. We’ll wait for you to get your memories back, and we’re not going to blame you for them being gone.”

Peter picked at the collar of his shirt. He was still dressed in the clothes Beck had given him for the mission, and for some reason, that was what made self-hatred well up in his chest.

“I was so stupid,” he said, voice choked. “I just… believed everything he told me. I should have known something was wrong. My… my sixth sense was going off from the moment I woke up, but I just believed everything he said even when I knew things were wrong—”

“Peter,” Tony said, voice gentle. “You’re not stupid. You were _scared_. You were confused and scared, and he promised to help you. Of course you believed him. _I_ would have believed him. You didn’t have any other choice.”

Not quite feeling reassured, Peter tugged at his collar, wishing he could take the shirt off. Tony squeezed his hand.

“How about you get some rest?” he suggested. “You look exhausted, and it’ll give your body a chance to metabolize that drug. I’ll stay if you want. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

Peter nodded weakly. He was still jittery and anxious and didn’t feel particularly tired, but with that ever-present fogginess in his head he knew it wouldn’t take him long to sleep if he tried. He still felt a little weird about sleeping in front of a man he’d thought was a murderer only a few hours ago, but his neck hadn’t tingled since Beck had been taken away. He wasn’t in danger.

If the warmth in his chest and Tony’s kind words were any indicator, this was the complete opposite.

“Okay,” he said quietly, leaning back against the pillows on his bed.

Tony smiled, his hand not leaving Peter’s. “See you in the morning, kiddo. You don’t have to worry—you’re safe now. I’m going to keep you safe.”

Peter smiled slightly but didn’t respond—he wasn’t sure how. Instead, he simply closed his eyes. Tony quietly asked his AI to turn the lights out, and as the world went black behind Peter’s closed eyelids, he wished with all the energy he had left that everything would just be… okay when he woke up.

***

_He was falling._

_A booming voice mocked him. “Watch out, Spider-Man!”_

_He collided with something solid, crumpling metal and shattering glass and completely knocking the wind out of him. Pain spiked throughout his whole body._

_With an agonized groan, Peter rolled sideways. He fell again for a brief moment, then landed heavily on concrete. He glanced at the now crumpled car beside him and used it to push himself up, fingers slipping on his own blood._

_“Mr. Stark!” he called, desperate._

_Panicked, Peter spun, blinking against bright sunlight. Where was—he knew Mysterio was somewhere—where was he—_

_He was in an alley, and his blood roared in his ears. He couldn’t hear Mr. Stark—or Rhodey— and his heart pounded as he jerked himself this way and that, eyes scanning desperately—_

_“Mr. Stark isn’t coming, Petey.”_

_Peter flinched as darkness swept through the alley. His fingers hovered over the trigger of his webshooters, but Mysterio wasn’t there—no-one was there, there was nothing to aim at—_

_“You really think he cares about you enough to help?”_

_Giant shards of glass rained down around him. He cowered, backing up until his back hit something. He was cornered._

_“Karen? Karen, talk to me, please—”_

_She didn’t respond._

_A shadow fell over Peter; a faceless round helmet was the last thing he saw before everything went dark._

***

_He was on a bed in a bare concrete room. He tugged against the restraints holding him in place, but the drugs they kept injecting him with made him too weak to break free. His eyes fixed on Mysterio and the latest syringe in his hand as the other guy, whose name he’d never learnt, tapped at the inside of Peter's elbow to bring a vein to the surface._

_“Mr. Stark is going to find me,” Peter whispered, with all the conviction he could muster._

_Mysterio smiled, condescending, and didn’t respond. Instead, he lined up the syringe, ready to drug him with their most recent concoction. Peter bucked and thrashed, but with the restraints around his wrists and the unknown man holding his arm firmly, he couldn’t escape._

_“No no no no—”_

_The needle stung as it went in, and within a few minutes, a wave of fogginess overcame Peter._

***

_He felt floaty. He struggled to move, only to find something holding him back. A whine rose in the back of his throat. What was—where was he—?_

_A blurry face swam into view. For a moment, Peter felt his whole body relax at the dark hair and neatly trimmed beard, but then his vision cleared and recognition clicked like a switch in his mind. Mysterio. In a panic, Peter flinched away, trying to escape._

_“No—”_

_The face disappeared, replaced in Peter’s awareness by an angry voice._

_“It’s still not working. God dammit, how many different drugs have you tried? You told me you’d be able to synthesize this to work on him. Why the fuck isn’t it working?”_

_“I’ve tried, but—his metabolism, I’ve never worked with anything like this before—”_

_“Stark is going to find us sooner rather than later. You do this, or I’m going to put a bullet in your head. Do you want a bullet in your head?”_

_Peter hurt. His head hurt, and he couldn’t move. What was going on? He wanted Mr. Stark. And May. Where were they? Why weren’t they here?_

_He didn’t know what was happening but he hurt, and he was stuck, and his head was tingling. Mr. Stark would be able to help._

_He wanted Mr. Stark._

***

_“Peter?”_

_He flinched. “Who’re—I don’t—who are you? Where’m I?”_

_A loud laugh. It made his head hurt._

_“You finally fucking did it. He’s ready.” The voice sounded amused. “Get everything prepared. We’re finally going to kill Tony fucking Stark.”_

***

Peter gasped awake. His eyes opened to darkness, his heart pounding against his sternum. He struggled up into a sitting position, only to find something stubbornly secured to his hand. He yanked his arm back, claustrophobic, dragging whatever it was with him.

A voice cried out, one that registered faintly in the back of his mind, but panic and fear pushed that recognition down.

“Peter—Peter!”

He blinked, eyes adjusting to the darkness. The room around him was faintly lit by a warm orange glow creeping in through the glass in the door; the room was white, and clean, and surprisingly familiar.

“Pete? Hey, hey. You’re okay.”

A gentle hand rubbed his shoulder, and Peter’s eyes landed on the face leant in close to his own.

His heart skipped and then breathed a deep sigh of relief.

“Mr. Stark?”

Mr. Stark’s face softened, a warmth in his eyes as he smiled comfortingly.

“That’s right, kiddo. It’s me. How are you feeling?”

He… he felt… fine. For the first time in days, he felt fine. Peter almost laughed in giddy relief. His head wasn’t foggy, and he was able to think clearly. And finally, _finally_ , the ache in his neck had receded, and it was no longer tingling.

He was safe and he was home after so long not even being aware that anything was wrong in the first place.

“ _Mr. Stark_ ,” Peter repeated, voice breaking.

He tried to move his hand again, but something was still stuck to it. When he glanced down in surprise, he found his palm securely attached to Mr. Stark’s—as if in his sleep his subconscious mind decided that it didn’t ever, ever want to let go.

“I—I’m sorry—”

Mr. Stark’s other hand came to clasp his. “Don’t apologize, Pete. If you don’t want to let go, we don’t have to.”

His eyes stung; he blinked rapidly.

A moment later, he unstuck his hand from Mr. Stark’s and threw his arms around the man’s shoulders. For a second, Mr. Stark froze, but then he wrapped his arms tightly around Peter, one hand carding through his hair and the other securely holding him close.

“Shh, it’s okay, Pete. You’re okay. I’m here.”

It was then that Peter realized he was shaking violently. He clutched at Mr. Stark’s shirt and buried his face in the man’s neck, breathing in his scent of cologne and metal and oil. It smelled warm and safe, and the arms around him made him feel small and protected in the best way possible.

“Mr. Stark,” he whispered once again. He didn’t know what else to say—his mind couldn’t get past the fact that he was home and Mr. Stark was here. So long as Mr. Stark was here, that meant he was safe.

“What’s going on, Pete? Have you got your memories back?”

He nodded against Mr. Stark’s neck, who squeezed him tightly.

“I was—he—I didn’t know what was happening, I was so confused—and then—I—he was gonna make me kill you, he wanted me to kill you—”

The hand carding through his hair did so with an almost urgency.

“I’m so sorry, Pete. I’m so sorry you had to go through that because of me. But I’m here, alright? I’m okay. Nothing happened.”

“I know—but—he told me all these awful things and I believed them, I… I was scared of you—”

“Pete,” Mr. Stark said softly. “You don’t have to apologize for being scared, or for trusting the only person who was there for you at a vulnerable time. The fact that Beck was lying to you is all on him—you’re not at fault for believing him. You had no frame of reference.”

“But I had my Spidey sense—it was going off the whole time, from the moment I woke up.”

“And did you know what it meant?”

“I mean… I knew it was trying to tell me something, I knew it didn’t want me to tell Beck about it—”

“No, that’s not what I’m asking. Did you specifically know that your Spidey sense was warning you of danger?”

“I… no.”

“Then how were you meant to know, kid? Of course you trusted him.”

Peter squeezed Mr. Stark and tried to believe what he was telling him. He knew that he had been scared, and confused, and that Beck had promised to make sure he wasn’t scared or confused any more. And Mr. Stark was right that he’d had no frame of reference to notice Beck’s lies and see through them.

But looking back in hindsight, it was so hard not to see every time his Spidey sense had been trying to warn him he was in danger—every time Beck came near him, every time Beck touched him, every time he drank something Beck prepared for him—and feel like a complete fool.

Mr. Stark patted his back gently. “You’re clever, kid. So clever that sometimes you still manage to surprise me, even with how long I’ve known you. If there were no clues that you picked up on, nothing that made it obvious that something was wrong, then no-one could have realized. Okay, kid?”

Peter wasn’t going to let Mr. Stark finish talking sense into him. “But I did realize things. I noticed things that felt off and I just… ignored them. Like—like, there was one time he lied to me and I knew something was wrong, but I excused it away and—”

Somehow, Mr. Stark still sounded fond. “Because you’re trusting, kid. You see the best in everyone.”

“I was stupid.”

“No. You’re so positive, and I hope you never lose that quality. You wanted to see the best in Beck, even though he was trying to hurt you.”

“But it’s because of that that I listened to him—you could have gotten hurt because I wanted to trust Beck. What if next time, something does happen, and then—”

“Pete, there is never going to be a next time.”

Mr. Stark said it with such confidence, such finality, that it snatched the excuses from Peter’s tongue. He pulled away from the hug and looked at Mr. Stark’s face, searching.

“I failed you, Pete, by not being there for you when you needed me. In future, I’m never going to let that happen again, okay? Beck’s locked up, and so is the guy that was helping him. Beck's still knocked out, and who knows, maybe if we’re lucky that’ll wind up being permanent. But either way, he’s not going to hurt you ever again. I won’t allow it.”

Peter’s mouth slowly pulled into a relieved smile.

“And as soon as you’re up for it, I’m going to organize some lab days and we’re gonna put every damn failsafe we can think of into that suit of yours. Okay? We’re gonna make a whole new suit to make sure you’re always safe. The Bubble Wrap Suit. It’ll be all padded like a puffer jacket and also bulletproof, and you bet your ass it’s gonna have a tracker. Two trackers. Fuck it, ten. Actually, FRIDAY, how many trackers do we have in storage—”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter said, embarrassed. “You don’t have to do that.”

Mr. Stark’s face softened, the joking glint disappearing from his eye. “Let me have this, Pete. I’d do anything to never have to realize you’ve gone missing ever again.” His voice was barely a whisper. “I was so scared.”

Peter’s mouth closed. He looked down at his hands. They were still shaking a little, but it was okay. He was home. That warm, fluttery feeling had found a home in his chest and it was telling him repeatedly that this was good, this was safe.

He glanced up at Mr. Stark. Shame pooled in his gut when he noticed the Band-Aid on his forehead.

“I hurt you,” he said, quietly.

“Put in a couple hours helping me organize the lab and you can consider yourself completely forgiven.”

Peter smiled weakly, but then something occurred to him. “Oh my God—May, where’s May—”

Mr. Stark calmed him with a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, kiddo. Look behind you.”

On the other side of the bed was May, slumped in a chair and fast asleep. She was still dressed in her scrubs from work. Like Mr. Stark, she looked pale and had dark circles under her eyes, a testament to all the stress that Peter had caused.

“Was she worried?”

“Are we talking about the same May Parker? Of course she was worried, kid. All she ever wants is to make sure you’re happy.”

Which was definitely glossing over the emotional damage Peter must have caused her. Guilt weighed heavy in his chest and he gently slipped his hand into hers where it rested on the bed, as if she had been holding his hand when she fell asleep.

“She was _extremely_ upset that you chose to stick yourself to me, and not her,” Mr. Stark said, but it was teasing.

Despite the lightness in Mr. Stark’s voice, Peter’s gut still did a nosedive. “I was asleep, I couldn’t control it—”

“Hey, it’s her you need to make your case to, not me.”

“Is she mad?”

“Pete, she’s just glad to have you back. In fact, you’ve probably got a good few weeks before she’s capable of feeling anger directed towards you at all. I suggest you take full advantage of that. Anything reckless you’ve ever wanted to try? I’m a billionaire, we can do just about any of it—”

Peter cut Mr. Stark off by burying his face in his chest, his free arm wrapping around the man’s back again. He smiled to himself.

“Uh, kid, you okay?” When he didn’t immediately answer, Mr. Stark began to fret. “Do you need something? I can get you anything. Are you thirsty? Or hungry? Anything at all? Here I am, Tony Stark, willing to get you anything you want. One-time offer. Go crazy.”

Happily, Peter shook his head. He felt safe, and loved, with his aunt and his mentor by his side. His neck was silent but his chest whispered to him, telling him that this was safe. This was home, and by simply being there, Mr. Stark had already given Peter everything he could possibly ask for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've read all the way to the end—thank you so much! You're the best <3


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